


Interrupted

by luvsanime02



Series: Communication [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Humor, Language, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6402319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed was interrupted several times that day, but apparently he wasn't the only one.</p><p>Second in the Communication series. Set about six months into their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrupted

**Disclaimer:** I am not Arakawa Hiromu, and so I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist and am making no profit off of this fic.

########

 **Interrupted** by luvsanime02

########

Ed knew he shouldn’t tease Mustang, but he didn’t let that stop him.

Really, Ed mostly did it because he just flat-out had trouble believing that something so weird could be true. Sure, one time Mustang had an orgasm rather quickly after Ed brushed his finger across the bottom of the man's foot. But considering Ed’s tongue had been playing with Mustang's cock at the time, he’d assumed that had more to do with it than anything else.

Otherwise, this meant that Ed was going to have to admit to himself that all alchemists were insane. Neurotic. Flawed in some fundamental, neurological way. He was a bit disgruntled at this thought. Mustang had seemed mostly relatively sane in all the years they'd known each other. Why did the man have to choose now to reveal that he was as insane as the rest of them?

Yes, Ed really shouldn't be teasing him, and he definitely shouldn't be doing so in a public place. Still, this was about more than Mustang. This was for _science_ , and how apparently the equivalent exchange for being able to wield the science of alchemy, to manipulate the very structure of the world around them, was that all alchemists were, quietly or not, mentally unstable. It was a very unsettling realization, and thus slipped out of his mouth without conscious thought.

"We're all nuts," Ed said, interrupting the conversation around him. A very brief pause came over the table at his statement, but it was immediately followed by a deep-throated and feminine laugh. Ed watched absently as quite a few people in the restaurant turned to look for the source of the disturbance.

"Well, yes," Rebecca Catalina agreed merrily, even going so far as to lift the half-glass of red wine in her hand and raise it in mock salute. "Is this a new revelation?" Her teasing tone managed to relax Ed enough for him to belatedly recognize how tense he'd slowly been getting. Havoc grinned lopsidedly at Rebecca’s response, a certain fondness in his gaze.

Mustang, who'd been trying not to look at Ed for the past ten minutes or so in response to his surprisingly inappropriate teasing below the table, now sent him a mildly exasperated but very lust-filled look. Ed had to swallow a snicker. They'd be having sex right now if they weren't in a restaurant, in front of friends. Ed probably shouldn't find Mustang’s discomfort quite as funny as he did.

Breaking his gaze from Mustang's, hopefully before the other man could read the amusement on his face, Ed gave a semi-apologetic look to the other two. "Actually," he elaborated, "I was referring to alchemists in general. We're all crazy, really. Mentally cracked. It probably stems from some sort of chemical imbalance. Maybe even directly correlated to the fluctuations caused during periods of temporary electrical discharges, namely transmuting.”

Ed paused, thinking further about his current theory. “Actually, over a significant period of time, the brain likely starts to expect those pulses with an almost addictive dependency. Naturally, the absence of these pulses could cause a state of heightened stress on the brain itself, a mental simulation of withdrawal caused by nothing more than the disturbance of set logarithmic patterns. Conversely, the continuation of these pulses c-"

"Edward." It was said softly, but the amusement still came through as clear as water being thrown in his face. Ed's teeth snapped closed with a clack. He turned his attention back to Mustang, slightly insulted that the man had so rudely interrupted him. Though perhaps it was payback for Ed toeing off his shoe, then one of Mustang's, and then running his toes all over the man's foot for the past ten minutes.

That idea didn't pan out, though. When Ed followed Mustang’s gaze, his eyes were directed across the table. He found himself the sole subject of two blank stares from Rebecca and Havoc. Now understanding why Mustang had interjected and why he was amused, Ed opened his mouth to speak, watched Rebecca's lips twitch in response like she was going to burst out laughing again at any second, and instead sighed in only half-false annoyance.

"You know," Havoc broke into the silence, "I think you might have a point there, Ed." The man paused, then snorted. "Not that I understood much beyond 'alchemists are nuts’, but that was the gist, right?"

"Indeed," Mustang murmured, taking a sip of his own drink. Personally, Ed thought that while Havoc might have understood the 'gist' of what he'd been trying to say, the man had also entirely missed the point. Alchemists were all clearly insane. However, was this caused by alchemy, or was there something different about all alchemists’ neurology to begin with, some fundamental imbalance that made them capable of transmuting in the first place?

Of course, the reason why alchemists were able to perform alchemy must have something to do with the chemicals flowing through the brain, and not the brain itself. His tissue matter didn't look any different than Rebecca's, Ed knew, and the only other explanation would be that there was something different about their souls, which wasn't an explanation at _all,_ but the largest copout in the world, in Ed's opinion. Everything had a _soul_ , and Ed refused to believe that some souls were simply more special than others. The idea was too egotistical to seriously contemplate. No, the answer had to be found inside the brain, in the electrons and neurons and the rapid firing of synapses and releasing of chemicals.

So, did alchemy cause degenerative insanity through frequent use? Or could only the slightly unhinged use alchemy in the first place, and the electrical surges just exacerbated the problem? And if that was the case, was that insanity hereditary? For example, Hawkeye was one of the sanest people Ed had ever come across. Her father, though, had been an alchemist; a renowned one, who had passed on the secret knowledge of his highly-specialized flame alchemy by tattooing the process onto his only daughter's back.

Clearly, that guy had been insane as well. Maybe Hawkeye was lucky, not inheriting the ability to perform alchemy from her father. Not that Ed believed the ability to transmute was necessarily inherited, because there was a lot of evidence to the contrary, but on the other hand, those who were alchemists frequently had children who were. In that sense, there was clearly a genetic pattern involved. Ed grumbled internally, irritated anew at Hohenheim.

What Ed needed was a survey of current practicing alchemists. He'd have to include personal backgrounds amongst his questions, ask about the subjects' families and individual histories, what alchemy they specialized in, how frequently they used alchemy overall…

Ed should probably also draw up a chart for how many times he used to use alchemy in the span of six months, then break it down further into the duration and strength of the alchemy he'd performed, in order to test at least the addiction part of his newfound hypothesis. And try to rule out extraneous factors by including how often he'd ate and slept, and the amount of stress he'd been under. That meant some measure of subjectivity was going to arise, but since this was a survey that was unavoidable anyways.

Of course, he'd have to ask Mustang to do the same, so Ed would have fresher data. Al too, and Armstrong, and some of the other alchemists he knew. Ed could always claim that it was research related to his next project, and really, it could be.

What if there was a difference with alkahestry, though? How was Ed supposed to account for something like that? His brother could use it, but didn’t usually. And besides, he needed Al for the alchemy baseline. Well, perhaps Ed could ask Al to only do one form of transmuting for six months, and then the other form the next six? Though he'd need more than one year of sampling, optimally. Asking Al would also mean that Ed would have to explain his theory first, which could potentially contaminate his brother as a test subject altogether, but Ed supposed he'd have to take that risk.

Really, Ed needed to-

It was the hand squeezing rather high up on Ed’s thigh that brought his thoughts to a sudden halt. He blinked. Looking at the others, Ed was able to discern that only a few seconds had gone by, since Rebecca and Havoc weren’t looking at him expectantly, and didn’t seem especially concerned. In fact, they were both still chuckling at Mustang's jab. Which, now that Ed was reluctantly shelving his hypotheses and half-filled tables into the back of his mind for the time being, he narrowed his eyes at.

Understanding his look immediately, as the man should, Mustang took his hand off of Ed's thigh and promptly straightened back up, reaching for his glass of wine again to cover the movement. "I was referring to myself as well, you know," the man muttered before taking a sip, and Ed turned his head away in tacit agreement. Besides, their food had finally arrived, and watching his lamb stew be served was a much better use of his time. And to think he'd almost felt guilty about the whole foot thing.

Food took precedent for a few minutes, as food always did when out at a restaurant where one had to wait almost half an hour after ordering before finally eating, but the silence was eventually broken by Havoc.

"Okay now, time to be upfront. What does everyone think of Peters?" Ed snorted before he'd thought not to, and heard it echoed by everyone else at the table. He watched a scandalized lady two tables over turn her nose up at them, but he didn't particularly care. Peters was an idiot.

In fact, "He's a complete moron. Are we still taking bets on how long it is before he requests a transfer?" Ed had been cataloguing Peters' progress, or lack of, and his interactions with the rest of the team, or lack of, and wanted to change his bet from next Tuesday to tomorrow.

"Nuh-uh, no can do, Ed. The times were locked in three days ago." Which was when the bets were placed, and also, not coincidentally, one day after the man had transferred into their command.

"We should give him a break," Rebecca muttered, but her voice lacked any real conviction. That Peters had hit on her twice already may have something to do with that. Though, in the man's meager defense, Rebecca and Havoc's relationship wasn't officially public, due to regulations and all. Technically, if Peters never paid attention, Ed reasoned maybe he could miss the obvious affection between the two of them.

"But where, and how many?" Mustang quipped, sighing only a little dramatically. "And how could we ever hope to make it look like an accident?" Ed laughed sharply, a little surprised despite himself, and Havoc chuckled while Rebecca guffawed again. He was pretty sure they were laughing for a different reason than him, though. Havoc and Rebecca, at the joke, and Ed because he'd recognized the darker thread underneath Mustang's words that said he wasn't entirely joking. Deciding to ignore that undertone while in the middle of a restaurant, Ed turned back to his food.

The lamb was good, he reflected absently. Nothing on Izumi's cooking, but then, not much was. Still, it wasn't dry or otherwise cooked too long, and overall, Ed was happy with the texture. There was also some kind of spice that he recognized after a bite as something alcoholic, but luckily it wasn’t much. Ed refused to stop eating his food just because of that, no matter how much his face tried to heat up at the memory of his only other experience to date with alcohol.

Almost against his will, Ed's gaze flicked to Mustang, but the man was concentrating on his own food and listening to Rebecca's quip about her quest to find Hawkeye “a man, for god's sake” with open amusement. After a mental sigh of relief, the moment passed, and Ed threw in his own opinion.

"Leave it," he suggested. Rebecca opened her mouth to argue but Ed shook his head, pausing to dip his spoon back into the stew. It was an acquired taste, and was rapidly growing on him. "Look, I understand that you want her to be happy," and he let his gaze flick to Havoc, "but Hawkeye has men falling all over themselves to take her out whenever she says the word. If she wanted to date someone, she would."

He noted Rebecca's eyes do their own flick in Mustang's direction. Ed scowled, but the woman dove in anyway, her whole body leaning forward in her zeal, and he realized suddenly that she must have wanted to say this for a long while, but had kept quiet for whatever reason. "I'd like to think that too," she said smoothly, "but then again, I always thought that maybe she was waiting for someone in particular."

The comment was pointed, as much as possible without mentioning names, and everyone at the table was well aware who she was referring to. Mustang's mouth was opening to comment, and so was Havoc's, but Ed just leaned back in his chair, not at all perturbed. "I already asked her if us being in a relationship would bother her," he revealed. Ed used the time that everyone else was frozen in apparent horror to eat some more of his dinner.

"You asked-?" Havoc started to say, his voice a high-pitched whisper that Ed rolled his eyes at.

"I see." That was Mustang, giving him the same evaluating look that Ed had occasionally been on the receiving end of since he was eleven, the one that said plainly that Ed had just managed to surprise Mustang yet again, even after almost eight years of acquaintance. Ed sent back a sharp look of his own.

"You really didn't think I would?" he asked angrily. Rebecca may be Hawkeye’s best friend, but Ed considered her a friend, too. Simply put, Ed respected Hawkeye more than enough to have an awkward conversation with her about Mustang after he and Ed had sex that first time. A sudden thought occurred to him. " _You_ talked to her after we slept together, right?" Because if Mustang hadn't, if he'd just assumed that everything would be fine, Ed was going to be furious.

Mustang sent back his own offended look. They both ignored the slight choking coming from the other side of the table. Rebecca could assist Havoc if he actually stopped breathing. "Of course I did," he said softly, calmly, which meant that he was a little upset at the question. Ed thought this was somewhat hypocritical of the man. Mustang seemed to realize this a split second later, because he dipped his head in apology. Ed might have stayed mad if he hadn't felt Mustang's leg bump lightly against his own. The touch was another apology, a personal one, and Ed went back to his stew with no further feelings of resentment.

The topic of conversation was switched, and they all talked and laughed some more, miraculously managing not to touch on any other argumentative subjects by instead being treated to Havoc's entertaining reenactment of lunch with Rebecca's mother and older sister. Said older sister was married, and had announced the week before that she was pregnant with her second child. Apparently, the whole point of the 'congratulatory lunch' this week had been an attempt on the mother's part to covertly ask if Havoc was planning on marrying her younger daughter before or after Rebecca got pregnant herself. Ed and Rebecca were in stitches before long at Havoc's dramatic imitations.

A few minutes later, dessert was ordered. Rebecca went to use the restroom… and so did Havoc not even a full minute later. Ed and Mustang were left giving each other very amused looks. "At least they waited until after we ordered dessert," Mustang mused. Ed smirked, agreeing wholly, until he caught the soft, "Too bad it's in use now," remark that came right after.

Now Ed was staring at Mustang, whose voice once again held an edge of seriousness underneath the joking statement. It took Ed a moment to notice that his own head was shaking automatically in denial. "I'm not having sex with you in the restroom," he stated flatly. Mustang hummed noncommittally, turning his head to idly watch the other diners talking quietly amongst themselves. Ed had to consciously stop himself from grinding his teeth. "I'm not listening to those two having sex in the next stall," he pointed out, attacking the issue from another angle.

Mustang turned back to look at him fully again. "You didn't really seem all that opposed to the idea earlier," the man commented idly, as though he was discussing someone's attire, or the weather. There was a pause where Ed tried not to look too guilty and obviously failed. "Unless, of course, you _weren't_ trying to send me a signal." Mustang was still staring straight into Ed's eyes, and okay, Ed did feel badly about before, but definitely not bad enough that he was going to give in and he hoped his flat look conveyed that.

Apparently, it did, because Mustang quirked a swift grin. "Not even crawling under the table after something you dropped? You do realize that I can't even stand up right now and it's entirely your fault?" Ed glanced down, and yes, Mustang would never be able to dine here again if he stood up right then and turned around to face the rest of the room.

Still, Ed raised an eyebrow. "That was almost an hour ago, Mustang. How, exactly, is your lack of self-control my fault?"

Mustang's eyes flashed in appreciation, and Ed knew this argument wasn't helping matters, but hell, he hadn’t been the one to start it. "Forty-five minutes," Mustang nitpicked, and his voice went just that little bit deeper. "Besides, you've never complained about my stamina before." Ed bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning. Mustang using his voice was a good strategy, and Ed could appreciate that. After all, they both thrived on this type of banter. But he still wasn’t having sex with Mustang in the restroom.

"And how would you expect to get to the restroom in your condition?" he threw out, his own voice snarky to Mustang's quiet.

The grin he received in return was small but wicked. "That doesn't rule out the other option." The man even had the audacity to pick up his large, linen napkin and place it almost daintily over his lap. Ed tried to maintain his 'die slowly' look, but he really pretty much just wanted to burst out laughing.

Still didn't mean that he was actually going to do it, but Ed loved this, loved fighting with Mustang when there was nothing really important at stake. Ed wasn't having sex in a public place, and Mustang knew that. Ed doubted Mustang would go through with it even if Ed did offer, and this thought gave him pause. He took in Mustang's haughty, smug grin, the man clearly thinking that he'd won the argument. Well, Ed couldn’t have that. He nodded sharply, as though he really was going to crawl under the table, even going so far as to push back his chair a tad.

The utterly stunned look on Mustang's face was completely worth it, although Ed was glad that they were interrupted just then by the return of their friends. Not that this stopped him from cackling out loud right then and there. He vaguely heard Havoc’s mumble of, "Did we miss something?", as Ed struggled to regain his breath. He also heard the underlying tone of embarrassment beneath the question, as Havoc obviously assumed that Ed was laughing at him and Rebecca, and Ed snickered anew.

"I think those are our desserts," was all that Mustang said in response to everyone, and the meal was finished rather quietly. Ed managed to catch Rebecca's eyes and grin gently, though, letting her know that he hadn’t actually been laughing at them. She beamed at him in return, clearly getting the message. Havoc could sweat it out until Rebecca filled him in later, as far as Ed was concerned. Meanwhile, Ed didn't dare look to his right, especially when Mustang actually had to use him as a shield when they stood up to leave, for fear that he'd burst out laughing again.

########

That said, Ed was rather glad when they got back to Mustang's home, because attitude or not, of course he wanted to have sex. Right that minute, in fact, and so he led the way to the bedroom, walking rather faster than usual.

Whoever had first come up with the idea that ripping a guy's shirt open got them undressed quicker, Ed would like to have a few words with them. Maybe they could give him some pointers. Giving the offending fabric in front of him a momentary glare, Ed took a tighter hold of the shirt, using both hands, and roughly yanked it open. The cloth tore completely free this time, the buttons all either flying off or hanging on by a thread, and Mustang's chest finally came into view.

Ed would be much more satisfied by his success if he couldn't tell by the tight grip the man had on Ed’s shoulders that Mustang was trying desperately not to laugh. Not that Ed could blame Mustang, as much as he'd like to. Besides, it only took a few seconds for the man's grip to ease and for his hands to start moving down Ed's back again, and really, who could concentrate enough to complain when talented fingers were drumming down their spine?

Ed felt that it was a much more productive use of his time to run his lips across the man's collarbone, lift his head, and then start sucking on Mustang's jaw, letting his tongue flicker out to taste. The quiet groan that sounded in the room made Ed chuckle deep in his throat, still not letting go of the patch of skin. Their playing at the restaurant had been a tease to them both, really.

A sudden distant knocking, which Ed realized with a jolt was someone at Mustang's front door, interrupted them, and Ed slumped his head down to rest it on the bed in despairing defeat.

Mustang’s quiet, "Maybe they'll go away," came out tight and distantly pleading. Still, Mustang walked over to the dresser and got out another shirt, pulled the ruins of his first one off, and shrugged into the new one. The knocking did not stop. Ed didn’t move, but watched Mustang with one eye, his forehead still resting on the cool sheets.

Mustang left his shirt untucked, which made Ed smirk, but the man was already exiting the room and didn't notice. After he left, Ed started taking off his socks and footwear, along with his belt and outer jacket, hoping to speed up the process when Mustang returned.

It took several minutes for him to reappear, long enough that Ed was now sitting on the edge of the bed and swinging his legs in boredom, his shirt and pants still on. One look at Mustang’s face and the atmosphere turned chilly, sending shivers down Ed’s spine. Mustang leaned against the doorway, expression utterly blank, and Ed wasted no time in pulling off the rest of his dinner clothes, only to open a different drawer and pull out another shirt. The closet was opened by Mustang, and their military uniforms were swiftly taken out.

They dressed in silence. It wasn't until they were both in uniform and leaving Mustang's place that the man spoke. "Peters' body turned up in an alley not twenty minutes ago."

Fuck, that opened up a whole issue of problems Ed didn't want to untangle, and that Mustang was probably already thinking up an itemized list for. There was a car waiting for them when they both got outside.

########

The mood was somber in the office. Ed waited anxiously with everyone else for Rebecca and Havoc, looking pale and grim, to get there. Mustang nodded when they arrived, only to turn around and lead the way back out the door now that everyone had checked in.

"Let's go," he ordered, voice controlled and firm, a careful sort of cautiousness creeping into his tone. Despite the fact that he moved to leave first, Hawkeye was in front of Mustang by the time he reached the door. Her gun was not out, but Ed noticed that the holster’s safety strap was unbuckled.

"You didn't have to wait," Rebecca commented to the room at large. Her hair wasn't even pulled back, but instead loose and flying behind her. It was Havoc who shook his head.

"We don't really know Peters all that well, any of us, but we can't rule out politics or multiple targets." The man had a cigarette in his mouth, but he didn’t light it yet. Rebecca was trying to get him to quit. Or rather, Havoc was trying to quit for her, and the fact that he didn’t start smoking right now, despite the situation, spoke more to Ed about their relationship than any words ever could.

"Didn't," Ed couldn't help but point out, and Havoc grimaced but nodded, getting the point.

Ed thought the whole way to the crime scene. He thought about how Peters had smiled at everyone all the time in an unsuccessful attempt to cover up how nervous he really was. Peters had never been sure of his welcome, probably because he _hadn't_ been, in truth. He'd been… young, now that Ed thought about it. Closer to Ed's actual age than the more advanced years that Ed felt like he was most of the time. This had only been Peters' second year in the military, in a time of supposed peace, and his life had ended in some dingy alley.

########

The body was missing its feet. And its eyes. Ed felt a strange urge to hit something, to yell, but there was no one to hit and yelling would only draw more attention to the scene. The investigations team was being as quick as possible, but Ed knew why it was taking so long.

There was blood everywhere. It coated one of the alley walls in a thin but widespread and gruesome spray, still slowly dripping. Ed was mildly fascinated by the sight, so he stared at it. He stared at the wall, and not at the body of a man he'd spoken rudely to less than four hours ago. Ed must have left the restaurant around the time of the murder.

Soldiers were looking through the nearby trash. Ed came to the conclusion that they were searching for Peters' feet, or possibly his eyes, and Ed hoped for their sakes that they didn't find anything. The press of soldiers, all warm and breathing and alive, walked around in an orderly fashion.

Mustang was talking to one of the investigators. Ed could hear the steady tone of the man's voice over the din of the others, but he already knew they'd found nothing yet. Who knew why Peters’ throat had been slit? Why his body had been left to rot beside a dumpster and not in it, as though the man was that worthless even in death? Who knew if the murderer was still around here somewhere, watching?

Ed's eyes slid over those gathered, registered murmured comments about someone being alerted to the scene due to strange noises, and how the current theory was that the killer had been interrupted. Ed scanned everyone there, taking in faces and body language, but nothing stood out.

"Falman, Breda," Mustang called, every inch the commanding general. He waited until they were both standing in front of him before he spoke, voice not raised above the din, but also not lowered enough to seem suspicious. "Who were his friends?" he asked. The two men nodded and left, their orders given. 'Who were his enemies?' didn't need to be spoken out loud.

"Sir, maybe you should return to headquarters," Hawkeye said, and Ed knew she was worried. He agreed with her, but Mustang shook his head.

"This wasn't political," Mustang overruled confidently. He turned and looked at the body, staring without seeing, or maybe seeing too much. "This wasn't targeting the office, or me specifically. This was either completely random, or very personal." Ed followed Mustang's gaze and stared at what was left of Peters' face, trying desperately to remember if he'd ever known what color the man’s eyes had been, and mulling Mustang's words over in his head. His earlier theory at the restaurant came to mind suddenly.

"Well," Ed muttered to himself, "at least we know it likely wasn't an alchemist." Mustang and the others turned to look at him askance. Ed could feel their gazes but he didn't look up, eyes fixed on Peters' red-smeared face. "There’s no circle." He swallowed, because Ed of all people knew how messy alchemy could get, but still. "If they were interrupted, I doubt they would have had time to get rid of something like that."

"Besides, whoever did this," he gestured vaguely, "did it with some kind of instrument. They gouged out half of his face." The man's cheekbones were visible and shattered, like something had pushed through them. "Same with the feet, really." Cut at an awkward angle, diagonally, from the front of the foot near the ankle to the middle of the heel, right through the calcaneus instead of above it, part of the bone still there. Ed shook his head and looked away. Even after all this time, he was still shocked at how _white_ bones were. It was a brightness that you could see in pitch black, through blood and gore.

Mustang was still watching Ed silently when he looked back up, even though the others were now lost in their own thoughts or staring at the corpse themselves. Ed tried to convey wordlessly that he was fine. After a moment, Mustang nodded. "Colonel," the man commanded, and though his eyes never left Ed's it was obvious that he wasn't the one being spoken to. Hawkeye turned her sharp eyes from the crowd to Mustang and waited for his orders. "Secure everything from Sergeant Peters' desk. You two," he continued without pause, turning to look at Havoc and Rebecca, "make sure there aren’t any recent black market trends that we don’t know about." Mustang’s team nodded, saluted, and then left, already grabbing other soldiers along the way and issuing orders, never slowing down.

Mustang was watching Ed again, and he looked back, not sure what to say. There was nothing to say, really. Mustang had wanted Peters dead, but had not had time to personally orchestrate his death. No, someone else had killed him first, and then left his body to rot. Did that make Mustang a better person, that he would have had the man killed quickly? That he would have made sure Peters wasn't found by the public to be gawked at? If Mustang had killed him, there wouldn't have been a discarded body to discover. Was that knowledge supposed to make Ed feel better?

"Coming?" Mustang asked, seemingly casual, but his hands were stuffed in his pockets, a habit that Ed knew was to hide clenched fists.

Ed kept his eyes on Mustang’s as he thought about earlier, of a ripped shirt on the floor and those dark eyes flashing at him in the restaurant, a clear challenge in their depths. Ed thought mostly about fingers threading through his own, squeezing firmly, whenever Mustang held his hand. The first time Mustang had done that, Ed had somehow known, in some way that not even his knowledge of alchemy could ever compare to, that this man would always be an integral part of Ed’s life.

Now, Ed surprised himself by smiling. He surprised Mustang too, judging by the slow blink he received in response. It was an honest smile, and it stayed. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

Ed walked forward, away from the corpse and the blood, from the smell and the cold. Beside him, Mustang’s footsteps joined Ed’s, steady and resolute.

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone asks, no, I won't be continuing this story and expanding the murder case. I feel like there's nothing new I could write concerning that type of plot, and it's not what this story is about anyways.


End file.
